


Matame Otra Vez

by Missy_Wilde



Series: Bittersweet Memories [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arguing, Ass Worshiping, Betrayal, Canonical Character Death, First Meetings, First Time, Gay Sex, Loss, M/M, Rimming, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Some writers just want to see the world burn, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy_Wilde/pseuds/Missy_Wilde
Summary: "So. That is what you want. Revenge."Silva laughes. The sound that leaves his throat sound inhuman, animalic. "Revenge. That word is way too...meanless for what I want. I want to look her in the eyes and see the horror on her face when she sees what she has done.""And what is my role in your plan?""You are an intriguing man. I want you as an ally.""An ally. What does a man like you want with an ally?""I want to trust someone."Bond rises an eyebrow in surprise. "What makes you think that you can trust me?"
Relationships: James Bond/Raoul Silva | Tiago Rodriguez
Series: Bittersweet Memories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718287
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	Matame Otra Vez

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been working on this for a while and it my longest and thus my most complex one. I have a soft spot for it and I just wanted to do this, because many things are going through my head and this is my way to cope with it. Besides, it was more depressing in my head. Enjoy, anways.

Light. Everywhere this bright white. Bond felt trapped in it, awfully exposed to everything he had tried to drown in a flood of sins. Even when he searched the healing darkness in his sleep, the light infiltrated his dreams.

It wasn't the cell that locked the former agent up. It was his mind which, in general, couldn't make much difference between sleep and reality. Time passed by and his brain hardly saved pieces of what happened around him into his memory, or even took note of it.

He thought often about Raoul Silva. About his tender eyes. About his knowing smile. About his firm, rough touch. When he slipped into the feverish space between being awake and asleep. When his thoughts were running in circles and met him again in his memory.

Bond needed something. A challenge. A proof. Fire to melt the cold numbness inside of him. But secretly he knew, that he wouldn't feel alive anymore. Not as alive as he felt, as his skin was connected to Silva's.

The former agent knew how to conceal his emotions, or at least had known, he thought bitterly. Being that intoxicated with drugs, that even throwing up had been a challenge and drinking until unconsciousness had been the perfect option for not having to feel. But there he was, no options, no choices.

For him, it would have been more likely to lose his life with a knife in his back, his money in a reckless game and his honour in someone's bed. But that love would be his ruin? Not probably.

* * *

_Bond, James Bond, always knew how to get out of uncomfortable situations. Sometimes it just takes him to play the gentleman, to spend a bit of his money in a cocktail or two and to force out pretty words. Other times it needs him to activate the machine the MI6 made of him._

_His most important lesson was always the belief that his body is a product, made to be used and abused by his pride and his ridiculous patriotism and that pain, no matter if physical or emotional, is part of the trade and no reason for him to stop what he is doing._

_They warned him of temptations, of empty promises of endless power, money, sex. But no one ever warned him of an enemy with gentle hands and bitter truths, for which he isn't even demanding a payment._

_He expects pain as Silva sents his guards away and opens his shirt, button for button, slowly, smirking, knowing exactly what history is hiding underneath the fabric. But neither malice nor violence is staining his face as he finally sees the harm tattooed on the agent's skin._

_"Oh...you see what she's done to you..." He touches the shooting wound with cautious fingertips, evoking no kind of discomfort. A shiver is ghosting over Bond's skin, but his expression stays plain._

_"Well, she never tied me to a chair."_

_"Her loss." It was clear that Silva was liking having him in this situation, defenceless to his touch, knowing that the real cage wasn't the chair, but the agent's enjoyment._

_"Are you sure this is about M?", the agent asks, slightly tilting his head. He forces himself to look into the other man's eyes, which though wasn't necessary, because his gaze is fully fixed on his work._  
_Silva nods slowly, as if it would be obvious. "It's about her. And you, and me. You see, we are the last two rats. We can either eat each other..." His eyes are flicking back to Bond's face, suggestively, "...or eat everyone else."_

_He lifts his hand, what makes Bond flinch slightly back, but Silva lays it soothing on the long column of the agent's tanned neck._

_"Ah, you're trying to remember your training now, what's the regulation for this?"_

_A warm thumb circles Bond's adam's apple, feeling the agent's pulse flutter against his throat like a desperate bird against its cage walls._

_"Well, first time for everything, yes?"_

_Bond's legs tremble as both of Silva's hands lay on his knees and slip upwards, spreading them slightly as they reach his thighs._

_"What makes you think this is my first time?"_

_Silva's chuckle is deep, a supple rumble inside of his chest. "Oh, Mr Bond. Brave little soldier, aren't you? For the queen and the country, hm?"_

_Suddenly a scream hit the air like a whip. The voice sounds female, though it is so desperate, so full of agony, that it barely sounds human._

_"Oh dear." Silva sighs. "Poor little girl. Poor Sévérine."_

_Another scream. Lower, heavier. Panicking, on the search for air._

_"What are you doing to her?"_

_"Oh, don't you think about those ridiculous lavish torture machines. The human pain and fears are way more primitive."_

_"Why do you want to kill her?"_

_"Greed, Mr Bond. Yes. Greed. She wanted you. And she wanted me. That's what happens to people that want too much." He pauses for a second, a curious look on his face. "What do you want?"_

_Bond leans his head back and let a smirk spread across his face. "Nothing you could give me."_

_"How would you know?"_

_"Isn't the question rather what you want from me?"_

_"Not at this moment, no. Neither is this the place to talk about it." He walks around the chair, to open Bond's handcuffs, leans down to whisper into his ear. "I'm keen on finishing this conversation. But_

_now isn't the time." The cuffs click and fall audible to the groud. Silva sticks a card into Bond's jacket pocket. "007." He turned around, walking towards the elevator._

_It came down, purring like a loyal cat. "Youth is no guarantee of innovation, isn't it?" He lifted an arm without looking into the double-o's direction. In his palm lays the radio, breaking with a crushing sound under the pressure of Silva's fingers._

* * *

"So it is true?"

Bond opened his eyes. Bold, brown ones stared back.

"What do you want, Q?" The first words for days. They felt strange on his tongue, bitter, rotten.

The quartermaster shrugged. "People are talking and I wasn't sure if I could trust them."

"And? Can you?"

"I...think so, yes."

The former agent nodded, more to himself than to Q. The silents hurt in Bond's ears. It was like a constant beeping in the inner walls of his head, almost like a voice, a high-pitched scream.

"What did he do?", Q asked suddenly.

"Who?"

"Silva."

"To me? Nothing."

"Oh, come on, Bond!", he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, "What made a man, drunk on patriotism like you are, attack his own country? Brainwash? Threatening? If you keep defending him, they are going to put you in the deepest hole they have, so M doesn't have to face her shame."

Bond chuckled bitterly. "I'm not defending him. I did all of this being conscious of my decisions and their consequences."

"But why?"

The older man tilted his head and looked at the man with the messy curls, the shadow of a beard over his upper lip and dirty glasses. And he suddenly saw a boy standing in front of him. A boy hiding behind a massive intelligence, his powerful machines and a sharp tongue. And it made him smile, just a little, sad curl of his lips.

"Live a bit longer Q and you'll understand."

"Bond", the quartermaster sighed, "I want to understand before they lock you up forever."

"You wouldn't. Trust me." He turned around laid down on the hard plank bed.

"So you don't care that you are going to lose everything?" Disbelieve stained Q's voice.

"I already have, Q." Bond finished the conversation.

* * *

_"I was already worried that you wouldn't join me, Mr Bond."_

_The room door is unlocked as the agent enters. He looks around the dark hotel suite, only illuminated by the crimson light of the sunset, which is perfectly framed by the huge window leading to the balcony._

_Bond moved towards it, spotting a silhouette that is sitting in one of the two chairs outside._

_"But I knew you are too curious to reject my invitation", Silva continues as the double-oh agent stands directly behind him. Thick smoke leaves his lips as he speaks and a cigar is placed between middle and pointer fingers. "Cigar?"_

_"Where are *your guards?", Bond refused to answer the question._

_"Oh, stop being so paranoid. They won't come if it isn't necessary. Sit down, I won't bite. Only if you don't want me to, of course", he adds with a smirk as the agent sits down._

_They say nothing for a while and stare at the city of Rio. The millions of lights. Somebody is playing an awful remix of a Ricky Martin song and a group teens sing along in a slurred version it._

_"So...", Bond started._

_"So?"_

_"I've followed your 'invitation' as you call it. I want a consideration."_

_"I see. You want to know what I want from you."_

_"I don't want a 'What', I want a 'Why'."_

_Silva takes a drag of his cigar, lets the smoke escape through his nose and lips. "Five months", he says finally, "five months in a room with no air. Five months, every day, every night, torture. And I haven't said a word. Not. A. Single. For every answer they didn't get BOOM, whip", he hit the glass table beside him with his fist, "For every minute of silents BOOM. I could feel the flesh peal of my bones. And still, though all the suffering, all the pain, I protected mommy's little secrets. But she didn't come to save me."_  
_His eyes meet Bond's face, wide and glowing dangerously in the light of the almost completely drowned sun._

_"I had one last hope, not even a hope, rather a last choice." He changed the hand to hold the cigar and removes a dental prosthesis from his upper palate, which makes his left cheek sink in and reveal a mutilated face and a row of rotten teeth._

_Bond tries not to flinch or even react. "Have you ever been in contact with cyanide? I had a capsule in my back left molar. I broke the tooth and bit into the capsule. It burned all of my insides, but I didn't die", he laughed, "Life clung to me like a disease."_

_His talk is slurred, his breathing heavy. He puts the prosthesis back into his mouth and takes a deep drag of his cigar._

_"So. That is what you want. Revenge."_

_Silva laughs. The sound that leaves his throat sound inhuman, animalistic. "Revenge. That word is way too...meanless for what I want. I want to look her in the eyes and see the horror on her face when she sees what she has done."_

_"And what is my role in your plan?"_

_"You are an intriguing man. I want you as an ally."_

_"An ally. What does a man like you want with an ally?"_

_"I want to trust someone."_

_Bond raises an eyebrow in surprise. "What makes you think that you can trust me?"_

_Silva doesn't bother in replying with words. He uses the ashtray to press his cigar out and lays his right hand on Bond's thigh. His fingers feel strong, firm muscles, a soft tremble and the heat. The fire of a fading youth, the boiling blood in the agent's veins, panic, curiosity. He loves the contact. So many emotions, so much life. A beautiful contrast to his numb soul._

_"Because I think that you are looking for the same thing." He grabs with his free hand the base of Bond's skull and forces his lips brutally on the other man's. The agent grunts, hesitating to respond to the kiss, not wanting to give up to his usual patterns of self-control. But the very end of the fight, he found himself grabbing a fist-full of platin blonde hair, trying to take over the kiss._

_The other man makes an almost aggressive sound in the back of his throat, his grip around Bond's jaw becomes tighter, digging his nails into the sensitive skin and buries his teeth into the agent's lower lip._

_Bond groans as the thin skin of his lip tears. He tastes disgusting sweet blood, but enjoying secretly the sting as Silva's tongue meets the sore, bare flesh. Latter doesn't waste any single drop, addicted to the flavor of vulnerability._

_Silva feels reckless fingers move to the buttons of his shirt, but he pushes them harshly away, holding Bond's wrists together. He waits a shaky heartbeat, maybe two, looking at the agent's lips, all bloody and swollen from the violence of the kiss and his gorgeous blue eyes, dyed in raw desire. He takes Bond's chin into his hand, kissing him tentatively, as if it would taste different this way._

_It did, kind of sweeter, richer. Delicious, he thinks and smiles, grabbing Bond's arm, half pushing half dragging him inside of the hotel room. The darkness lays heavy on the agent's body and he can't quite see the soft carpet floor he is walking on. Maybe he doesn't even have to._

_Bond's back hits the mattress hard as he was shoved into it. Straddling his waist, Silva almost rips the double-o's shirt open. His exposed skin feels hot, rough under gentle palms._  
_Though it was quite dark, Silva notices those exquisite, firm abs and Bond's scarred, broad chest. He bends down and takes the agent's left nipple in-between his teeth, pulling and licking roughly at the rosy flesh, moving then to the shooting mark, which got the same treatment._

_The other man, who is staring at the <, hisses, maybe in pain, or pleasure and tries to push Silva's face away, but the other man doesn't care about it. He opens the button of the white cargo trousers and pulls the zipper down, brushing his thumb against Bond's covered tip. A smirk curls the other man's lips as Bond grunts and bucks his hips. He wants to see how much the agent can bear._  
_The trousers are pulled down and tossed to the floor, revealing their owner's sun-burned tighs. In-between: a leaking erection covered in black appetizing tight briefs. Silva licks his lips, maybe another time, he thinks and cooes: "Turn over,_ cielo _."_

 _Bond hesitates, eyes still sticking on the ceiling._ Cielo _. He knows what is coming._

_"No need to be scared."_

_"I'm not", he snaps, voice cracking oh so slightly as he follows quickly the request. Silva just rolls his eyes, tugging gently at the briefs._

_"It offends me how you think that you can lie to me." The snort that Silva gets in response gets caught in Bond's throat as the briefs disappeared completely. "Though you can't", he spreads the agent's cheeks, "because we are one single rat."_

_Bond clenches automatically as Silvas tongue is dragged along his crack. Not passing the rim yet, just coating it in unbearable hot saliva._

_"Don't cramp, bébé, relax." Silva kisses tenderly the small of Bond's back before turning back to his adorable rosy hole, drawing lazy circles around the rim of it it. A low, shaky "Hm" is the only answer he gets, feeling how the agent's body loses control underneath his tongue. He cups his left cheek, squeezing slightly in praise, while finally deciding to break the rim, thrusting shallowly in and out._

_Bond's legs are shifting, rubbing hard against the sheets, not knowing what to do with that unknown sensation. It feels as if icy fingers would dig into his stomach and close around his guts. The coldness is so intense, it almost feels like heat. His erection is painfully stuck between belly and mattress. "Fuck's sake, Silva...", he snarls through gritted teeth._

_Silva smiles against the hot, slick hole and closes his eyes. It's always fun for him to see what it does to the big, bad men when they get touched right there where they need it._

__Of course, the thing that is still the most fun, is seeing the surprised reactions of those young boys when they find out how good it feels to have a big, warm hand around their cocks. Yes, the pretty little waiter boys in their tight, white suit jackets, who are working at those fancy restaurants. However, hearing Bond's failing attempts to be quiet, are right now enough to make his dick hard and throb in his underwear. He picks up speed, thrusts may be a bit harder._ _

__

_"Silva..." Bond finds himself grinding involuntary against the sheets. His thighs are trembling dangerously. "Stop...Silva-stop or I'm gonna cum." He doesn't want to finish like that, untouched like a whore with a tongue in his arse._

__

_Silva allows himself one last hard thrust to make the agent gasp and opens his eyes. He licks his lips, it could become a habit, maybe even an addiction to taste Bond on them. "On your back", he demands after some heavenly seconds of listening to the agent's heavy breathing._

__

_This time, Bond follows the order less hesitant, the other man notices with satisfaction. "Buen chico", he mumbles while getting up to stand next to bet, unbuttoning his Lacoste-shirt. Bond, erection stiff against his stomach doesn't care to think about what Silva says. His eyes devour the half-dark to get a good view of the other man's torso._ _A lot of effort and time is carved into every single firm, tanned muscle of Silva's body, which is exposed little by little. Maybe it was to make up, or to distract from the scar tissue spread across his back and chest._

__

_It looks like the abstract work of an artist, that wants to let out his anger about being out of ideas. Not a single scar, long or short, thick or thin, is placed there with a thought, a plan behind it, they just confirm the raw, blind violence behind the whole picture. Yes, maybe Silva was right when he says that this is what he was looking for. Maybe he do needs the snake poison burning through his body._

__

_By now, the other man has his shirt laying on the floor, wasting no time in getting rid of his trousers too. Armani, Bond is sure. Silva notices how his body is examined and looks back at the agent, with eyes, so deep, so dark, they almost melt into the darkness._

__

_"You seem to like what you see." He tosses the belt to side, leather hitting the floor hard and drops his trousers to his ankles, kicks them aside and climbs back on the bed._

__

_"The view is quite satisfying", Bond muttered underneath his breath, watching Silva getting a small tube and a condom from a drawer of the nightstand at the right of him, putting the condom on top of it._

__

_"Quite satisfying? No need to get offensive." The tube snaps open with a loud noise and Silva pours a generous amount of lube on his index and middle finger. "Legs up."_

__

_"You are pretty confident for a man who is missing almost one-third of his face", Bond teases, pulling his legs to his chest._

__

_The other man smacks his hand roughly on the agent's lower thigh, making him hiss slightly._

__

_"And you are pretty cocky for a man who let MI6's most dangerous enemy fuck his ass with his tongue and lets him fuck it again with his fingers and cock."_

__

_Bond huffs a laugh. "Touché."_

__

_"Touché", Silva repeats and pushes a slick finger into the agent, feeling how the hot muscle gives in under his blunt touch. Bond's mouth falls open, letting out a low sound of pleasure as the finger reaches out, stroking inside of him._

__

_"You look gorgeous like that." He rubs his other hand below the agent's belly button and adds another finger. They slip easily in and out of the already-stretched hole, scissoring slowly. Silva notices clearly that Bond is enjoying himself, the way his hands are fisting the sheets and his eyes are screwed shut, focused on the pleasure, but the reaction isn't intense enough for Silvas taste._  
_He stretches his index finger skillfully and crookes it just a bit, grazing the agent's prostate. A surprised moan follows the action and a tremor goes from the base of Bond's spine to the tip of his fingers._

__

_Silva rubs a little more, teasing, forcing him to jerk his hips violently into his palm. He grabs Bond's face and kisses his lips, his cheek, his chin, his throat, it doesn't matter where, keeping his finger in the same position, oh right there. The agent was all at his mercy, grunting, shacking, pleasure blocking his lungs._

__

_The other man scissors his fingers once, twice before pulling out, not able to stand any more seconds of waiting. His cock is uncomfortably swollen and sensitive against the fabric of his briefs. He tears them off, sighing in relief. Hastily, he grabs the condom from the nightstand, rips the wrapper off with his teeth and spits out the plastic._

__

_Silva pulls it over his erection, covering it thickly up with lube, making obscene slick noises and slight humming noises while doing so. Bond props himself up on his underarm to see what the other man was doing, but with a sticky hand, he is harshly pushed down. Silva wraps his hands around the agent's ankles, pulling him closer and gestured Bond to close his legs around his waist._

__

_Bond's chest is rising and falling heavily, the blood roars in his ear like the stormy sea. Hands, warm and soothing are put on his hips, fingers squeezing in encouragement. Slowly, the thick cock is pressed inside of his ass, filling it up. The agent moans, higher then he intended and rolls his eyes back._

__

_Silva curses, once his length is completely disappeared inside of the agent. Not cursing, more an undefinable hissing, that Bond could probably not even understand if he would speak Spanish. But he doesn't think about it as he feels the other man moving inside of him, building a steady rhythm that works for them both._

__

_He bends down to kiss Bond's half-open, swollen mouth again. Teeth clacking together, tongues meeting in a starved bite, swallowing every sound. Silva mouth makes it's way towards the agent's neck, sucking and biting the soft skin behind his ear, at his adam's apple. He was not exactly gentle, blinded by the growing speed of his thrusts._

__

_One hand leaves the already reddened hip to wrap for the first time around Bond's waiting cock, which one twitches at the sudden attention. The delicious full tip is soaked in pre-come, tripping down the hard dick. Silva pumps his hand fast up and down, matching his almost brutal pace._

__

_A flash of hot, white pleasure appears in the back of Bond's mind as Silva sharply hits his prostate. The control slips entirely through the cracks the pleasure created inside of his consciousness. Toes curl, fingers burry in hair, balls slap against his ass and he feels how the rhythm inside of him loses itself in pure ecstasy._

__

_"Hm-Silva...I'm-fuck..." His voice is hoarse, covered in a thick accent._

__

_"Say my name", Silva demands, panting. Sweat drips down his shoulders._

__

_"Wha-"_

__

_"-say it." He jerks his hips, nailing his sweetest spot again._

__

_"Raoul...shit..."_

__

_"James."_

__

_"Ra-"_

__

_"James..."_

__

_"F-fuck..."_

__

_He spills himself over Raoul Silva's hand while his fading voice whispers Bond's name._

__

* * *

__

Steps echoed through the corridors. At least three, four people, maybe a woman with-in, judging by the higher intensity of the sound of heels hitting the floor.

__

"...nobody has talked to him except Q, is that correct?"

__

"Correct, ma'am."

__

"And?"

__

"Nothing informative, ma'am." 

__

"Any signs that somebody might try to get him out of here?"

__

"No letters, no threads, no messages at all." 

__

"Very well. Close the door behind you and position two men in front of it, four in the hallway and two other at the gate."

__

"Do you wish a man to come with you?"

__

"No. I want to be left alone with him."

__

"At your orders, ma'am." 

__

The steps of the other men faded into silents, while the sharp heels came closer. A door fell shut and suddenly, the woman came to a stop. Bond didn't react, he kept facing with heavy eyelids one of the glass walls.

__

"You could at least use the last splinter of respect that is left in you to look at me."

__

The former agent blinked, slowly turning over. Unlike he had expected, he felt nothing as he looked at M. Not the anger, not the betrayal he had told himself to feel for the last few weeks, months even, he couldn't quite remember. Maybe it was because it hasn't been his fight he had fought.

__

"Are you mad at me?", Bond heard himself say, not knowing why. He knew the answer anyways.

__

"You and your friend tried to kill me. It's hard not to take that personal."

__

"It wasn't personal. At least I didn't intend it to be."

__

"Well, enlighten me, Mr. Bond. Why did you come into the parliament to point a gun at me?"

__

She moved towards him, expression neutral, but her jaw was clenched and her eyes were dangerously narrowed. M didn't want to be around him, around the man she thought she could trust, Bond recognized, but yet felt a grim satisfaction at that thought. He hadn't the horror on her face, Raoul had longed for, but the mere realization of the consequences of her actions was worth its weight in gold.

__

"You know why", he said finally.

__

"I don't, that's the reason I'm asking you", she answered coldly.

__

"Yes, you do. You just don't want to admit it."

__

"Indeed?"

__

"Yes. My motives were not very professional."

__

"Whatever they were, they weren't planned very thoroughly. Silva is dead and nobody has shown up to free you."

__

"I haven't thought about being freed either. Besides, five agents are still exposed every week, aren't they? Ra-", Bond paused, "-Silva wasn't stupid, or unthinking. Just hasty."

__

"Q has already solved the problem, no need to worry."

__

The former agent smiled and shook his head. "He hasn't."

__

"Anyways", M ignored his comment, "you are going to remain here until your trial."

__

"You are not going to transfer me?"

__

"As hard as it is for me to keep you around, yes. I like having you there where we can see you." She turned around, walking away, not running, but keeping a steady tempo.

__

"You don't trust me to behave?", Bond shouted after her, voice hoarse.

__

Hand on the doorknob, M stopped, turning her head for the last time. Her eyes looked even from the distance old, tired of things coming to an end, twisting, turning and starting all over again. "You have proven that I can't."

__

* * *

__

_Bond can't remember exactly where Silva said it. Maybe on the balcony in the morning after they have had sex, with a thumb stroking the back of his hand. Maybe on the way to Canberra, in the chopper, with a soft smile. 'You are free now, James, no old women that can boss you around. You can pick your secret missions.'_

__

_He can, indeed. He could, yes. But he doesn't. Perhaps he needs the feeling to be needed for something, something concrete. However, he likes the way the other man asks something from him as a request and not as an order. Independent if it was time to pull a trigger, draw a knife or simply be polite._

__

_Bond measures the quality of his job by how well he could walk the next day. Silva's men address him as 'Sir' and follow his orders without hesitation. He watches his lovers cat and mouse game with the MI6 patiently, enjoys himself while playing along and looking back at the trail of chaos they burn into the messed-up world._

__

_Maybe he can finally say without regretting it instantly, that he was happy, he thinks while regarding the sun through the water surface. Bond holds himself against the will of gravity at the ground of the pool, holding the air in his lungs. In the end, gravity and the lack of oxygen ally against him and force the agent to float back over water._

__

_He strokes wet hair strands out of his face and rubs his chlorine sore eyes. It has been a long day and his muscles are aching. It became a tradition of his in the last few months to use the pool after a rough day to come down. This one, which belongs to a house in a suburb of Taipeh, is especially large. Around eight feet in the length to thirteen in the width, made out of beautiful creamy tiles._

__

_The agent sits down on the edge of the pool, grabbing a towel behind him to dry his hair. The cherry blossoms around the house sway gently in the evening wind, which feels cool on Bond's wet skin._

__

_The sound of the door to the backyard opening breaks all sudden the silence. He turns his head to see Silva standing in the door frame, stripping his shirt off, action accompanied by a swipe of his_

__

_tongue over his lips._

__

_"Already waiting for me, I see?"_

__

_The corners of Bond's mouth twitch. "Of course."_

__

_Silva steps closer, careful not to slip on the wet tiles. He kneels as he reaches the agent, lifting his chin to kiss him, tasting the chlorine on his lips. His fingers ruffle Bond's hair teasingly. "Now cielo, have you got the information I've asked you for?"_

__

_Pictures of a man called Ronan Polanski choking on his blood flashed through his mind._

__

_"I did."_

__

_"Good boy", Silva cooes, kissing him again, "that was our last task here in Taipeh."_

__

_"Oh? Where are we going next?"_

__

_"London", he answers with a smile._

__

_Bond's face changes in a blink of an eye from pleased to aghast. "What?"_

__

_"London. Have you been there before?", Silva asks with a hint of amusement in his voice._

__

_"Raoul..."_

__

_"Oh, don't you have trust in our planning, beloved?"_

__

_"It's not about that and you know that."_

__

_"What is then?"_

__

_"It's too early."_

__

_The last bit of Silva's amusement disappears. "Don't tell me that you are scared, James."_

__

_"I am not."_

__

_"Well, I have no other explanation for your behavior. How much longer do you want to wait? A week? A month? Maybe even a year? We can't wait forever."_

__

_"Why do we have to do it now? If we would wait a bit more, we could bring their whole surrounding under our control and crush them in-between."_  
_He gets a bitter laugh as an answer. "I can't believe that that old woman is still dominating you so much. Have you ever even thought about killing her? You will never be free if you don't start to finish with the past."_

__

_"Oh, for the love of god, I don't give a shit about killing that fucking bitch!", Bond raises his voice, "I just got the feeling that you are so blinded by your damned obsession with revenge that you don't care if we still need time for planning everything better! Do you think that if we kill M wherever, the MI6 is going to sit still and watch, even without a leader? Wounded dogs bite, Raoul, you should know that by now."_

__

_"I see, you have no trust in me to handle the situation."_

__

_"Stop turning my own words against me! I. Don't. Want. To. Fucking. Lose you! What am I going to do if you die, huh? I'm fair game to the MI6, I've betrayed my country, the crown, and my previous instincts to be with you. I beg you to understand my worries."_

__

_Silva sighs, rubbing his neck. His gaze catches a single blossom leaving the swig of a tree. He watches it sliding through the air, meeting the surface of the pool soundless while drawing spreading circles. "It is not as if I wouldn't recognize the truth in your words, but please, we've planned this whole thing already for three months, mi cielo. Three months and eleven days. We are ready."_

__

_"Are you sure?"_

__

_"Yes." He takes Bond's wrist and kisses it gently. "Just imagine our life afterward. It's not only about revenge. A single bullet and we'll have everything else in the palm of our hands, we can do whatever we want, because the MI6 might not just sit still and watch, but they'll need time to recover and we are going to use their break to destroy them."_

__

_The agent closes his eyes and breathes in, deeply. He waits a second or two, takes a decision, opens his eyes and sighs, nods carefully. "Alright."_

__

_"Good", Silva squeezes his hand, "now, come inside, love. It's getting chilly." He pulls him up to his feet, leading him towards the house._

__

_Tonight, he fucks Bond twice, lets him ride him, whispers through his orgasm that he adores him, maybe even that his obsession isn't revenge, but his body, his scent, his taste. He touches, hard, fast, with fire and passion, tender, slow with silk and caution._

__

_He doesn't care that it might be the last time that he gets to touch his lover like that, melting into his skin. He doesn't care that everything he had hoped and prayed for might fall into pieces within seconds. Not in the moment as his boy's mouth opens so pretty for him in a moan. He forgets everything as he spills his load for the second time into that stunning ass._

__

* * *

__

Bond's eyes snapped open as he heard laughter, body freezing. Two guards changed shifts, one of them yawning, it had to be something between half-past seven and eight p.m. Most of the workers would probably already sit in the tube on the way home, except Mallory, M, Tanner, Q, Eve and a few others.

__

Eve. She didn't come to see him. He hasn't asked for it either, nor why she didn't. The former agent knew the answer anyways.

__

"Good night, Jim, here's his dinner."

__

"'night, Ralph." The man called Jim rolled his lean shoulders, bones cracking and body straightening up, "Sent Molly and the boys my regards."

__

"Sure. Just don't forget to give it to him."

__

"Do you think anybody would notice it?"

__

"Maybe when he is already starved to death."

__

They both share a laugh. Bond had seen them before in his time as an agent as well as in his stay in his cell at the MI6. Brothers as far as he knew, pretty similar looking, typical Irish look, green eyes, flaming red hair, freckles, both a few cards short of a deck. Were almost ridiculously respectful as he still had a job, but we're now even more annoying then they were before. 

__

"And don't let him seduce you."

__

"Ah, you want that I leave you something over, huh?"

__

Ralph padded Jim's back, giggling. "Keep your pecker up, pal." He left for the right direction, whistling a Beatles song Bond couldn't remember the name of right now. His brother unlocked the door behind him, a mocking smile on his lips. "Yoo-hoo! Here's your dinner, sleeping beauty!" Jim moved quickly, almost expectant.

__

The former agent let his head back to the side, mouth falling slack, breath going shallow. 

__

"Oi!" A fist pounded against the glass. "C'mon, the chef made your favorite dish, just for you!"

__

If one could even call it a dish. It was simply some raw vegetables chopped lovelessly, soaked in fat and accompanied by a piece of meat, that Bond didn't even dare to ask who had to die for it.

__

"So, either you wake up or I'll come in."

__

His hand slips from the mattress, hitting the floor hard. 

__

"Bond?", Jim asked, panicking. He drops the plate; it shatters with a dull bang, fat spreading yellow like urine all across the shards. The guard tried to get the cell door open, almost not making it through the mess of keys. As he finally succeeds, he kneeled to Bond, pulling the collar of his prisoner jumpsuit down to reveal his puls artery. 

__

He pressed his fingers a bit too rough on it, trembling. As he was already about to move down for a cardiac massage, the former agent shot up, smashing his forehead against Jim's. The latter one yelped, reeling before falling hard on his back, groaning in pain. His hand looked for his holster, reaching out for his gun, but Bond was faster. He kicked his foot against the place where Jim's left kidney should be and stroke exactly enough to make the guard on the floor whimper. The gun was forgotten. 

__

Bond kicked a last time, so he could free the gun with ease from the holster.

__

"Pl-please...", Jim begged as the former agent rose again, releasing the safety catch of the weapon. His eyes were glossy in pain. "I-I have wife and children, I c-can get you out of here, I don' know-I-I-"

__

"I have no intention in getting out of here", Bond answered calmly and pulled the trigger. Jim cried, groaned, hyperventilated and cursed while dying, which he did quickly, a bullet stuck in his neck, drawing an impressive amount of blood. It enjoyed the fat on the tiles. Urine and blood. Rotting and iron. It stank enormously.

__

He stepped over the guard body, searching after the remains of the shot fading into the distance. Other guards have surely already heard it and were on their to Bond's cell. Quickly, he checked how many cartridges were still inside of the gun. Five cartridges, four lights. He pointed, shot, hit. Glass shattered in the sudden darkness, filling the silence. 

__

The eclipse felt like a cold shower after a hot day and he breathed it in in bliss. His pupils expanded slowly, hurting slightly as if they had been held too tight together. This was fine. Bond didn't need to see what he was going to do. _"Don't do that."_

__

Heels hurried down the corridors, one person alone, carrying a flash light. One cartridge was left. It would be enough if he just pointed right. Bond closed his eyes; mouth, nose, lungs filling with darkness. He drowned, dissappeared under the surface. This was fine. He placed the gun against his throat. This was fine. _"Cielo, no."_

__

And heard his name from far away as he pulled the trigger.

__

"James!"

__

_"James, no!"_

__

* * *

__

_Fingers wrap around his throat, trying to stop the blood from pooling out of his body._

__

_"Oh, James...James what have you done?" It's too dark to see the face, but the voice...oh it sounds just like in his dreams._

__

_"Ra-oul", red bubbles run down his chin as he tries to speaks, he coughs, spits, but more blood shoots upwards, making his speach viscous._

__

_"You could have ran away. Finished what we have begun."_

__

_"N-ot with-out y-you."_

__

_Bond feels a hand on his cheek, cupping it gently._

__

_"I can't-I can't...what you ma-de me do...I-ple-ase-I can't..."_

__

_Hot tears chase down his face, the pressure in his ears too much, the air in his lungs too less._

__

_"Shh...don't speak."_

__

_"Ra-"_

__

_"I'm here."_

__

_His hands leave his neck, so the rest of the blood drenches the fabric on his chest quickly. Sticky fingers wrap around his wrist._

__

_"I'm here", he repeates until Bond can't hear him anymore._

__

* * *

__

M was just about to put her coat on and leave when she heard sirenes. She looked out of the window to see dozends of police cars in front of the entrance of the MI6. As she hurried towards the door to head for an elevator, she ran into Mallory, who was just about to knock.   
"Mallory!", M barked, "What is all of this about?"

__

"Bond is gone." His voice was firm, his eyes dark, maybe in consternation.

__

"What?! You useless fool! I thought I was quite clear about my instuctions to guard him! Two men in front of the door, four in the hallway and two others at the gate! Everything has to be done by myself! Why-"

__

"-you don't understand", Mallory answered toneless, closing the door behind himself, "he is dead."

__

M blinked, letting the information sink in. After some seconds of waiting silence from Mallory's side, she walked slowly to her wine shelf, picking a bottle of Chateau Lafite, one of her most expensive ones and poured the blood coloured liquid into a glass.

__

"What happened?"

__

"He shot himself with the gun of one of the guards. Moneypenny found him."

__

"Where is she?"

__

"On her way home. She was shaking and crying as she was taken away, so they gave her sleeping pills."

__

The woman took a long sip of her wine. "He could never stand to sit still without having anything to do", she muttered, taking place on the edge of her desk.

__

"We both know that that is not the reason why he commided suicide."

__

"Oh, really? Well, then explain the actual reason to me if you don't mind, I'm dying to hear it."

__

Mallory ignored the bitter sarcasm in her words and stepped to the window.

__

"I talked to Moneypenny before she passed out. She said that he whispered his name until the last seconds of his life."

__

M didn't have to ask who "him" was and emptied her glass instead.

__

"I don't think that it was his idea to kill you. He could have lived in peace, you still breathing. He knew that Silva's attack was over-rushed, insane even." He paused, following with his eyes how two policemen carried a body covered in fabric to their car. "But love is best kind of insanity."

__

He saw how the police car drove away, melting into the distance. M eventually agreed quietly, pouring herself another glass. 

__

**Author's Note:**

> Titel as always inspired by a song; Ricky Martin's 'Matame Otra Vez' which means 'Kill Me Again' in Spanish. I heard that song again after a long while again and I was like: 'Let's do this.'


End file.
